


getting lost over love

by Wizardboy



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, But I thought I should tag it, Fake Identities, Hurt/Comfort, I put an absurd amount of research into this, I'm Sorry, Internalized Homophobia, It's just curt being curt, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, no beta we die like men, super slow burn, this is a steam of consciousness babey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-09-01 00:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizardboy/pseuds/Wizardboy
Summary: Trusting a spy is a dangerous thing. Falling in love with one? You're asking for trouble. Falling in love with your partner in crime who's a man? That's unheard of. It's impossible, really.Then again, spies are men of the impossible, aren't they?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yall have no idea how many times I had to re-write something because I accidentally put Owen instead of his Alias. dear god--  
Anyway, hi welcome to this disaster of a fic. Special thanks to the saf discord for giving me the motivation to actually finish up this chapter. Yall are the real mvps! I also want to mention that I'm not setting up a specific update schedule. Hopefully every week/every other week? We shall see!
> 
> The title is a reference to the song "will i find my love" by Juniper Vale and Vian Izak!

** _Ukraine, Russia - February 3rd, 1950_ **

The mission was easy enough, Curt probably could have done it in his sleep. As Cynthia had put it, it was so easy even a rat couldn’t fuck it up and a rat had the brain the size of a crumb. All he had to do was blend in at this house party, mingle some, get pictures of the bomb plans that were probably hidden upstairs in the guest bedroom under a square of carpet, mingle some more to make it seem less obvious, and then he could leave the party and he can catch a plane back to headquarters at 8 am sharp the next morning. Easy peasy, maybe he could even please Cynthia this time around, but maybe he shouldn’t get so ahead of himself. Things were going smoothly, though, which was reassuring. Curt was really lucky he had brushed up his Russian recently because it was really coming in handy now as he tried to integrate himself into the slowly growing crowd.

Curt sips his drink idly and glances around to see if anyone looks interesting enough to strike up a conversation with. If he was being honest with himself, he really didn’t want to make small talk with anyone, in English or otherwise, because he was rather jetlagged and he knew that the moment he was off the job he’d just sit in an empty hotel room listening to Barb talk for hours or listen as Cynthia yells at him for somehow monumentally fucking up even if he did what she wanted. What Curt really wanted to be doing right now was go back to America, sit in his shitty apartment, and let the neighbors cat who somehow always finds a way into his house sit on his lap. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just tell his boss to fuck off and do that, so here he stays.

The living room he’s standing in is filled with people who were probably too drunk for their own good--something Curt wishes he could be at this moment, maybe that would help his dreadful jetlag. He was off in a corner just observing the general chaos; people yelling, laughing, being general nuisances. All very typical for a party of this nature, although Curt can’t remember what they’re celebrating. It was in his case file and his debriefing he’s sure but that felt like eons ago, not to mention he’d only been half paying attention to what Cynthia had said during his meeting with her. His general inattentiveness to such meetings never really did help him out, nor did it help his already rocky relationship with his superior, but it was always so dreadfully  _ boring _ . Listening to Cynthia drone on and on about his cover story and suspect and what not was his absolute least favorite part of the mission, too many words and not enough action. So, no, he had no idea what this party was for and he didn’t really care either. He only really cared about the fact that everyone around him was too drunk and he wasn’t drunk enough for this entire ordeal.

Tiredly, Curt moves from the living room into the kitchen where a whole other type of chaos ensues. Here, everyone was rowdier and their motor-function was incredibly decreased. There was a man, though, who happened to stand out spectacularly within the loud kitchen--as in he looked entirely too sober to even begin to fit in. Honestly, as Curt discreetly eyed him from the other side of the room, he noticed that the man looked as though he’d had no drinks at all. He was being smashed against a wall by another man who was rather drunk and he looked mildly annoyed about it. His hair seemed to be slicked back by gravity itself and he looked rather regal--far too regal for a house party. He looked as though he was entirely out of his element and Curt almost felt bad for him. Almost. Curt knew he probably should be wary of him--Him not drinking along with everyone else really was suspicious--but he was compelled to talk to him for God knows what reason. So, as any sensible man would, he wove his way around the many drunken people who were laughing far too loud and stood near the man.

“Good evening,” Curt says, trying to strike up a conversation, the Russian falling from his lips easily enough. The man eyes him up and down as if sizing him up and nods his head. Not a man of many words, apparently. “How are you liking the party?” The man hums as if considering the question.

“Well enough, although the pastries are slightly overdone,” his clumsy Russian sounded as though it didn’t fit correctly in his mouth. Curt’s brain quietly supplies this is giving him  _ more _ reason to be wary of the taller man. He ignores it.

“Oh? Are you a connoisseur of pastries,” He asks, hoping that it doesn’t come off as rude. Curt really has never been good at small talk. The taller man chuckles slightly and takes another sip of his drink.

“Something like that,” he says with a smile.

“What a shame, I was looking forward to eating a pastry tonight,” Curt replies, and he’s silently cursing himself. He wants to bang his head on the wall at his own stupidity. Getting drunk is, once again, sounding really good right about now. “Well then, where do you suggest I go instead for some delectable pastries?” The other man laughs, obviously amused by Curts' very weak attempt at a joke to save this absolute train wreck.

“Somewhere that isn’t here,” He says with a glint in his eye, then looks Curt up and down again, “I’m Anton  Mikhailov . You are?” Anton holds out his hand to Curt. For a brief moment, Curt contemplates listening to his brain that was currently screaming at him to not trust this man, that there were so many red flags. The voice suspiciously sounds like Cynthia. He ignores it once again and shakes Anton’s hand.

“Viktor Ivanov. A pleasure to meet you,” Curt takes a sip of his drink as they lapse into silence. Curt really should be getting those pictures soon, shouldn’t he? “Well, Anton, it’s been a pleasure but I must be off. More people to mingle with, more things to see. Have a nice night.” Curt nods at the taller man and turns to leave.

“Till we meet again, Viktor,” Anton replies and raises his drink with a nod. Curt smiles and makes his way back through the maze of people and into the living room once more. He is rather thankful to get out of there, and he tries not to dwell on the taller man. Unsurprisingly, it was a harder task than it seemed.  _ Focus, Mega _ .

As inconspicuously as possible, Curt slowly makes his way towards the stairs so he can just get this stupid mission over with. He was almost there when a young woman strikes up a conversation with him. Curt is a bit more than annoyed that he’s being held up, but he reminds himself that this is for the job. He just has to power through it as not to look suspicious. He mostly just smiles and nods politely and gives short, uninterested responses, really trying to tell her that he’s not interested in the politest way possible. It is not going well.

“So,” the woman was saying, “are you here alone?” She bats her eyelashes up at him and Curt has to really hold back and not roll his eyes.

“Ah, yes I am,” he supplies shortly. He glances at the staircase again and he knows it’d be rude to just leave, but it’s tempting.

“Why, as a matter of fact, so am I! How coincidental,” She says with a sly smile. Unfortunately, Curt knows exactly where this is going and he’s really considering being a bit blunter but thinks better of it, because that could go very wrong very fast.

“Coincidental indeed,” Curt says dryly. The young woman runs a hand up his arm very slowly and Curt has to resist the urge to flinch away from the sudden touch. He was incredibly uncomfortable but if the woman had picked up on that she did nothing to change her behavior.

“Well if we are both here alone,” She breathes, getting closer to his ear, “Then why don’t we go somewhere a little bit more private? We could get to know each other better.”

“I, uh,” Curt swallows thickly, what does he say to _ that _ ? “I’m really not sure-”

“Oh, don’t be such a buzzkill,” She says as she tries to press herself closer to him. Curt subconsciously took a step backward. “It couldn’t hurt, could it?” It could hurt, quite a bit, Curt thought. What actually came out of his mouth was an incoherent stream of excuses.

In the corner of his eye, he sees someone go up the stairs. Someone who happens to have long, slicked-back hair and formal looking clothes. Someone whos heading in the direction of where Curt presumed the bedroom holding the bomb plans were. He silently curses and starts to walk towards the stairs “If you could excuse me that would be…” Curt trails off with the half-baked excuse and leaves the woman in the crowd with a new mission. He hears her say something, but he really isn’t paying attention to her as he tries to think of a good way to go about this. He waits for the taller man to turn a corner before he climbs the stairs as quietly as possible. Curt tries to make it looks as though he should be going up these stairs and he just hopes that he doesn’t run into the wrong person. The top of the stairs leads to a hallway that has all the lights off and seems to be completely empty. At the end of the hall, Curt sees a door ajar just slightly where all the others are closed. He listens for a few seconds and looks behind him briefly to ensure that he is in fact alone, and he tiptoes down the hallway. Once he reaches the door, Curt gets his face close to it as he dares and hears someone rummaging around quietly--but not quietly enough. Bingo. He feels his lips curl into a smile as he looks back at the hallway again, and nudges the door. When it doesn’t creak, he opens it as slowly and quietly as he possibly can, but he isn’t as sneaky as he wants to be. He accidentally hits the doorknob and jiggles it, making the rustling stop and, from the other side of the room, Curt meets a pair of eyes. His breathing stops as the person on the other side of the room turns to him and points something in his direction. In the very dim light, Curt recognizes it as a gun.

“Close the door as quietly as you can,” The person hisses quietly in clumsy Russian. If Curt hadn’t already vaguely recognized the man when he’d gone up the stairs, the obvious lack of knowledge of the language and poor accent would have given him away. Curt barely moves as he shuts the door, never taking his eyes off the other man and the moment he heard the soft click of the door shutting fully he turns on the light and draws his own gun as fast as he can. The two men stand in silence, guns drawn, neither daring to make the first move. Curt tried to work out how this interaction would go. God, Cynthia  _ told him _ it was possible there would be other spies on this mission. She was going to kill him when she found out about this.

“What happened to you being talkative,” Anton says cautiously, taking a step towards Curt. He speaks in Russian still, so Curt replies in kind.

“I’m not sure, you tell me,” Curt replied hesitantly. Anton raises an eyebrow and takes another step.

“Tell me who you’re working for and maybe I’ll talk.” Curt scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Like I’d tell you. That’d be idiotic of me.”

“It’s also idiotic to have a civil conversation with another spy,” Anton challenges. Curt shifts his grip on his gun a little nervously.

“What makes you think I’d be a spy,” He asks, trying to feign innocence. Anton huffs and takes yet another step. Curt has the urge to back away, but he stands his ground.

“Well, for starters, not many civilians carry around guns, Love,” Through his admittedly rough Russian, Curt hears the slightest hint of another accent. He wavered when he said ‘Love’, but he couldn’t quite pin what accent it was. He hadn’t heard enough, so he tried to get Anton talking again.

“Right,” Curt replies dryly, “Well, if this is already so stupid, then why don’t you go first and share about yourself. Who do you work for and why are you here.”

“I’d rather not. Your Russian is pretty good though, I am curious who your teacher was? They did a rather good job.” Curt pointedly ignores the obvious flattery.

“Nice try, but I’m not letting you change the subject.” Anton smiles lazily at him.

“You are no fun, Viktor,” He says almost tauntingly and Curt tries to pretend it doesn’t get under his skin.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been told that tonight. Now start talking before you really get on my nerves,” Curt warns, taking a step towards Anton.

“Oh, love, I would really like to see you try,” There it was again, his accent breaks through once more, “but I would rather we don’t alert the guests downstairs, don’t you agree? I’m sure we can handle this civilly.”

“I thought you said talking with another spy civilly was idiotic,” Curt raises his eyebrows in challenge. His arm was starting to get tired and he shifts his gun again. Anton just rolls his eyes.

“Really, you’re making this more difficult than it has to be, Viktor. Aren’t you tired of acting and threatening? I’m sure we can work out an agreement that will help the both of us,” He says smoothly.

“Who says I’m acting? What if I’m actually a Russian spy here to protect classified information?”

“Now, we both know that isn’t true. You would have killed me by now if you were Russian,” And, damn, he was right. Curt cursed under his breath and Anton smiles again, this time wider. It’s very frustrating to look at that smile. “Now, why don’t we both just lower our guns and talk like normal people, yeah?” Curt thinks for a second. This could very well be a trap and if he fucked this up and got hurt? Well, Cynthia would finish the job for this guy.

“Lower yours first and then I’ll lower mine.” Anton sighs and rolls his eyes for the nth time then puts his gun down at his side. Curt furrows his eyebrows because that was  _ far _ too easy. It had to be a trap, right? But when Curt doesn’t immediately lower his gun as well, Anton seems annoyed.

“Well? Are you going to shoot me or stand there like a dunce,” he asks and his Russian accent isn’t exactly replaced with a British accent, but it’s definitely got a hint of British to it. Curt very slowly brought his gun to his side as his brain worked, trying to piece everything together. As the gears in his brain started turning, Anton started talking again.

“Now then,” He starts, “Do you speak English? My Russian is rusty and I’d rather do this negotiation without struggling.” Curt silently debated with himself, trying to decide the safest route. If his suspicions are correct and the man in front of him is from the UK--he probably worked with MI6--then he would, in theory, be fine. America’s relationship with the UK was good, great even, from what he remembers, and he knows that Cynthia has mentioned once or twice that she had thought about working with MI6 for a few missions. Still, that doesn’t quell any of his fears of Cynthia finding out about this and doing something. Anything really.

“I might,” Curt says, testing the waters. Anton groans in frustration.

“Please, for my sanity,” He glares at Curt, gesticulating wildly, “Stop being difficult. I just want this mission to be over with and I’m sure you share the sentiment.” Curt sighs in resignation. This was an incredibly bad idea, but really he should have just been more careful in the first place. Then none of this would have happened.

“Sure, yeah,” Curt says in English, “I speak English. What do you suppose we do now?” Anton smiles, almost relieved, and turns around, back facing Curt, and he starts rummaging around in the dresser that had been behind him.

“Good, so can I ask what you’re here for or are you going to explode if you do that?” Curt let out an indignant squawk at that. He also notes that Anton’s accent is far more posh and thick than he’d been expecting.

“I’ll have you know I’m just trying to be cautious, as a spy should be.” Anton lets out a laugh.

“Viktor, love, if you were actually being cautious you wouldn’t have talked to me in the first place. You also wouldn’t have followed me up here  _ and _ threaten to shoot me.” Curt can’t see his face, but he can tell that the man is rolling his eyes.

“I followed you up here because it was suspicious that a quote-unquote civilian was walking up to a location where incredibly private information was held,” Curt defends.

“ _ Defensive _ are we,” Anton tuts.

“Well, you’re making me-”

“I’m not  _ making _ you do anything, Love,” Anton says and when he turns he has a smug smile on his face. Curt makes a frustrated sound and has to restrain himself from wiping that smug ass smile off the taller man's face. “Now,” Anton continues, “you never did answer my question. Are you going to tell me why you’re here or am I just going to have to assume?” Curt considers this, for a moment. The little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Cynthia was telling him to keep his motives secret. It was tempting, not telling Anton what he was there for, but he also considered how complicated that made things. He considered how this whole situation would go if he did withhold information. He heaves a sigh.

“Whatever,” Curt says under his breath but he knows Anton hears him anyway, “I’m here for the bomb plans. You?” Anton smiles and nods his head.

“I figured as much. My superior did warn me of other countries trying to get these plans. Now,” Anton starts walking around, “Help me look, would you? We’ve been up here for a suspicious amount of time as it is and I do worry that woman you were talking to earlier may ask too many questions.” Curt wiped around to look at the other man.

“Were you… watching me before you came up here,” Curt asks incredulously. Anton shrugs as he turns and faces the bed.

“I might have been keeping an eye on you. I was honestly worried you’d be a threat,” he says flippantly. Curt balks at that for a moment and Anton senses his hesitation. “Oh, don’t act like I had no reason to be suspicious of you. You’re really not as charming as you think you are.”

“I am plenty charming, thank you,” Curt says as he gets down on his knees. He feels around on the carpet and looks for a loose piece of carpet that he’s almost certain is there. Anton is looking under the mattress and in the small drawer of the bedside table but comes up empty. He glances at Curt, who’s still searching the floor, running his hands along the carpet.

“Having fun giving yourself rug burn?” Curt rolled his eyes but doesn’t look up from his task.

“I was told it’s possible there is a loose piece of carpet and there’s a safe underneath,” Curt says. Anton looks at him with dull interest but apparently doesn’t bother to help him look on the floor. He goes to the other side of the bed and checks that table as well which Curt finds a little pointless, but stays quiet. Curt moves over to the opposite side of the bed to where Anton is and runs his hands along the carpet ignoring the dull burn he feels on his hands. He’s about to move on to another part of the room when his fingers catch on something and he smiles. Curt easily lifts the carpet and looks up over the bed.

“Hey Anton, I think I’ve found something,” he smirks. Anton walks over and looks at the small safe Curt had revealed.

“Well, do you have a code,” He asks and Curt balks.

“Ah, no,” He confesses, “But I’m sure-” Anton cuts him off with a long sigh.

“Just. Move over,” he drops down and scoots in front of the safe, looking it over. Curt watches as he tries a few codes that fail, and then watches as Anton searches his pockets for something. Curt’s hands itch to just hack the safe--to just break into it--but he knows that it would just lead to a disaster. Still, he wants to do something, anything if it gets him out of this room quicker. Next to him Anton makes a sound of triumph and takes out a small piece of paper. “Here we are,” he says probably more to himself than anything, and he inputs the code that was scrawled onto the paper. And… the safe opens.

“Thank god,” Curt mutters as he opens the small door and grabs the manila folder that was sitting inside. He glances at the bomb plans inside and he glances at Anton, whos looking at him expectantly.

“Well? Care to share with the class what you’ve found?” Curt bites the inside of his lips and sighs. He puts the plans on the floor in between them and looks at Anton, whos staring back.

“So, what now? Just take pictures, put everything back, and part ways?” Anton seems to consider this and nods.

“Sounds like a plan,” and he lifts the sleeve of his jacket on his left arm to reveal a watch that looks similar to the one Curt has. He taps it a few times and pulls up a camera and Curt does the same. The pictures are a tad blurry, but you could still make it out and that’s all they really needed and he sent it to Barb and ensured that they would be meeting up soon. They put the plans back and tidy up the room--at least, Curt does-- and then they’re left standing inside the bedroom awkwardly.

“Well, Anton,” Curt says, breaking the silence, “I would say it’s been a pleasure working with you but it has been a nuisance really.” Anton laughs, obviously surprised by his bluntness.

“The feeling is mutual. I look forward to working with you again. You’re quite the spy.” Curt, who’s been walking towards the door of the bedroom, stops and looks at Anton. Really looks at him. It’s weird, he feels strange leaving so unceremoniously. It’s so rare you meet another spy on a mission like this and he feels lost, almost like there isn’t a proper way to end this interaction.

“Unfortunately, two spies rarely meet twice,” He says finally and turns back towards the door. He turns off the light when he reaches the wall and puts his hand on the doorknob, stalling. “Goodbye, Anton.”

“Goodbye, Viktor.” and with that, Curt, silently as he can, opens the door to the bedroom and walks out. He leaves the door slightly ajar, just how he found it, and he tip-toes down the hall. He stops before he gets to the stairs and listens to the commotion of the party below him, and determines that no one is on the stairs. He practically struts down, trying to play up his arrogance to show he belongs, and he tries to lose himself in the crowded room. As he inconspicuously inches his way towards the front door, he catches someone atop the stairs looking down at him. He tries not to let it bother him as he finds the host of the party, thanks him for the invitation, and steps outside.

The lawn before him is dark, filled with cars, and is almost silent. The noises he does hear is coming from inside the home and it’s nice. It’s calming, weirdly. As Curt walks down the driveway and onto the sidewalk, he feels rather refreshed by the silence and open-air around him. He walks in the direction of his and Barb’s rendezvous spot--it wasn’t too terribly far away-- and he wondered what on earth he could say to her. Because, really, he couldn’t just let this whole situation go under the radar, right? It would be strange lying to Barb about meeting another spy on a mission, but if he  _ did _ tell her? Well, Cynthia would have his head by morning.

Curt heaves a sigh and mutters nothing intelligible to himself. Is there a right answer to this? Probably not. It was either get killed by Cynthia because he worked with a spy or get killed because he worked with another spy  _ and _ he lied about it. Would she found out if he never told her? Maybe. Probably. Is he willing to take that risk? Most likely not.

Curt turns a corner and checks his watch again for the coordinates of his meeting spot with Barb. He probably didn’t have much time left, maybe thirty minutes. He tries to ignore the thought of this problem, but that doesn’t work because his brain settles on the thought of Anton. How Anton was careless and seemingly suave without trying. Anton and his stupid posh accent. It’s so frustrating because it looks like it comes so  _ easy _ to him. Curt has to try so hard and he still gets no praise from his superiors, just anger, and yelling and disappointment! To think Anton gets  _ praised _ for his ease in the field makes Curt’s skin burn and boil. It’s so unfair, as childish as that may sound. Curt just wants to impress Cynthia and show her that he’s more than a deadbeat spy.

He tries to shake the thought. There isn’t any need to dwell and whine about something he can’t change and he continues walking, pointedly ignores his rather loud brain. He gets to the rendezvous spot and spots Barb immediately, her bright blonde bob standing out in the dark.

“Curt,” Her shrill voice breaks the silence, “There you are! You were in there for so long I was starting to get worried!” Curt smiles tiredly and gives her a weak laugh.

“Yeah, sorry, I just got,” Curt gulps, trying to keep calm, “Caught up in something. Don’t worry about it though.” God, lying through his teeth to Barb about something like this was harder than he’d expected it to be. Barb gives him a look he can’t quite decipher, but she nods regardless.

“Alright, well, did mission go as planned otherwise?” Curt is deeply thankful for the change of subject and nods in conformation.

“Yep. The plans were in a small safe under a scrap of carpet as we suspected. I got pictures and sent them over. It’s all in Russian, unsurprisingly.” Barb nods and quickly writes on her small notepad then looks up at him. She studied him for a moment and looks like she desperately wants to ask something. “Barb, I can’t read minds. Just ask what you want to ask.”

“It’s just,” she said hesitantly, “are you sure everything went smoothly? You were in there for a really long time and I don’t want to be nosy or anything but-”

“Barb,” Curt cuts her off which effectively shuts her up. He considers lying to her again, he really does. It’s just not worth the cost, though. “Listen, I ran into another spy.”

“ _ What _ ,” Barb screeches and Curt has to refrain from flinching, “ _ Why didn’t you lead with that Curt what the heck _ .”

“I know, I know,” Curt says, “He was from Britain, MI6 assumably.” Barb pinches the bridge of her nose as if she had a headache and heaves a loud sigh. “It all went smoothly! No one was killed and I still got all the intel we needed!”

“Yeah but you could have gotten killed, Curt,” Barb says seriously, “whatever happened in there, you’re lucky to have made it out alive. You know you shouldn’t be taking those kinds of risks.” Curt looks down at his feet guiltily.

“Yeah, but what could have happened if I hadn’t followed him up to that room, hu? He could have stolen the plans all together and we wouldn’t have any intel at all.” Barb taps her thumb on her little notepad in thought and sighs.

“Look,” She says, “First of all, you’re so incredibly lucky that it was someone we are allies with. Second of all, what do you plan on telling Cynthia? Because I don’t think she’d like this.” 

“I thought that you’d tell her,” Curt says meekly and Barb just groans.

“Alright fine,” she says, “I’ll tell Cynthia. Then what? You’re not going to be let out onto the field for  _ months _ , you know that.” Curt nods sagely because he knows. God, does he know. Barb gives him a sympathetic look. “Maybe I can try and soften her. I’ll try to, at least.”

“Thanks, Barb,” Curt says with a small smile.

“Of course,” Barb says, “Now you should get to your motel. Your flight tomorrow leaves at 8 am sharp.” Curt nods.

“Alright. See you then, Barb. Goodnight.” Barb waves with a small smile.

“Goodnight, Mega.” With a small wave, Curt turns around and begins walking. Before he gets very far, he stops and turns around.

“Hey, Barb,” She turns towards him with badly masked confusion.

“What’s up?”

“Thank you for understanding and not like. Yelling too much,” he says and Barb’s face breaks into a large smile. She bounds over to him and gives him a rather bone-crushing hug despite her small stature and lack of muscles. Curt huffs out a small laugh and hugs her back. Once they break apart, Barb is looking at him differently but he can’t place why. “See you tomorrow.” Barb just smiles and nods. So, Curt turns back around and starts his treck to his shitty motel room. The walk is uneventful, he mostly passes streets lined with unlit homes and the loudest sound is the fall of his feet on the concrete. Occasionally he will hear a cricket or a quiet conversation from behind closed doors.

As Curt gets closer to where his motel is, the streets become more populated and much louder. There’s a bar on his right and as he walks past he hears laughs and loud laughter and snippets of conversation. Someone tries to talk to him with slurred and messy Russian but despite Curt’s proficiency in the language, he can’t seem to catch a single word. Eventually, they give up and move on to someone else, and Curt continues his walk. The restaurants around here are either closed or quiet--it’s quite late, after all. Once he reaches the motel, Curt immediately heads up to his small room. There isn’t much in it, the only thing Curt’s brought is a duffle bag with his clothing and weapons that's sitting atop a neatly made bed.

Curt sighs as he half-heartedly tosses his bag onto the floor and flops down onto the bed. He feels exhausted but he knows he doesn’t have long to sleep. Plus it’s very possible that he’s woken up by Cynthia yelling at him through his watch. He entertains the idea of staying up and waiting for that to happen but ends up just setting an alarm on his watch for 6:30 am and letting his exhaustion overtake his body, not even bothering to change out of his clothes. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep and he, miraculously, isn’t woken up until the alarm goes off.

He wakes with a sour taste in his mouth and a sleep-headache. It takes a good few moments to get out of bed and even longer to motivate himself to go and shower. His morning moves by sluggishly and by the time he reaches the airport he’s feeling no more awake than he did before. He tries to keep himself occupied by talking with Barb about this and that and he tries reading some magazines he finds on the plane. He pointedly avoids any and all questions Barb has about the mission that is relevant to the spy he met and he also ignores the nagging fear he has of seeing Cynthia. Once their plane lands, the nagging turns into stomach-churning. He stands outside of Cynthia’s door for minutes before he finally goes inside. She’s on the phone, per usual, and when she spots him hovering in the doorway her face hardens and she points at the chair in front of her desk. Cynthia hangs up on whoever she was talking to and looks at him with fire in her eyes.

She spends a good long while yelling at him before she throws a manilla folder towards him. “Paperwork.” Curt looks at it wearily, but takes it and bee-lines it out of the office.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey hi, from this point on I want to mention this fic is inspired by the amazing fic Even The Darkness Has Arms by LorianO! It's one of my favorite saf fics and I highly recommend it.
> 
> Also, special shoutout to the discord (specifically Eliza) because this chapter sucked ass to write for some reason.

** _Tlalpan, Mexico - May 17th, 1950 (Part one)_ **

Curt spends three months doing paperwork.  _ Three months _ . He had to sit in a cramped desk reading about the action instead of being in it, which was incredibly frustrating for him. When he was called into Cynthia’s office, he was preparing for the worst, but when he opened the door and Susan didn’t give him a pitying look, he had a small shred of hope. Cynthia had handed him an incredibly light case file and sighed as she lit up a cigarette.

“So here's the thing, Mega,” she takes a puff of her cigarette and turns to him, “You fucked up big time last mission, but because of that fuck up I convinced MI6 to work with us for a mission to see how it goes.” Curt smiles but keeps quiet, to which Cynthia rolls her eyes. “You can wipe that smug smile off your face, I’m still not happy about your little stunt, but if you don’t monumentally fuck up this mission, it might put us in a good place.” Curt opens up the case file and leaves through it idly.

“Do we know who I’m working with?” Cynthia laughs and gets up to start pacing.

“As if MI6 trusts us that much, we have an alias but that’s it. You two have to take out this arms dealer. We believe she went rouge a few months ago and has started dealing illegally. Previously she dealt with us, MI6, and a few other places so she’s got some connections in way too many places to be safe. You two just have to track her down and bring her back to us alive, but given how empty your file is,” Cynthia gestures to the folder in his hand, “That’ll probably be more difficult than it should be.” She took another drag and sits back down, putting her feet on the table in front of her.

“Great. When do I leave?”

“You leave tomorrow at 9 am, and your accomplice will be on the plane with you. You have a debriefing in two hours, now get out. I have important phone calls to make.” Curt nods and leaves the room promptly, case file in hand.

At the debriefing, Curt learns very little. They have next to no information on this arms dealer, apparently, she refuses to show her face anywhere and they aren’t sure what her name is. She is American, apparently, and is just hiding out in Mexico. She deals in a small park usually, it’s called Juana de Asbaje Park and from the very few pictures Curt has of the place, it seems like a weird place to deal arms. It’s got a small playground for children to play, some strange statues that were supposed to resemble people, and a nice water fountain. But Curt supposes it’s easy for them to hide in plain sight sometimes. All of this had been in the file, though, and Curt wasn’t sure if his associate had any more information than he had. This would be a long few weeks.

When Curt steps into his apartment that evening he is met with the sound of quiet meowing that was slightly muffled. He rolls his eyes and walks over to the window near his kitchen and lets in the small, mostly white cat that had been sitting on his fire escape. She quickly hops onto the kitchen counter and meows, butting up against Curt’s hand.

“Hey, Molly,” he says with a small chuckle, “Are you hungry? Is that why you’re here?” Molly cocks her head in response and Curt takes that as a yes. He walks over to the cabinet he keeps a bag of cat food in and Molly jumps down to follow him, meowing at his feet. Molly may not be Curt’s cat, but whoever lives in the apartment above him gives the cat the ability to come and go as she pleases and over the few years Curt’s lived here he’s taken a liking to the small Japanese Bobtail. Because of the nature of his job, Curt couldn’t have a pet of his own without having a roommate to look after it, so he was glad to indirectly take care of Molly.

After he pours food into a small bowl and puts it on the floor for the small cat, Curt pads into his small, strangely unused bedroom. These past three months alone, Curt thinks he’s used the bedroom more than he did all last year. While he was excited to get back out into the action and out of his cramped apartment, he would miss the comfort of having a consistent home for a while. Being in different places with little time between can get exhausting.

Curt gets up and starts looking for his travel bag. Given his lack of intel, he had a feeling he’d be gone for a while, so he also grabs a second bag out of his closet. Packing takes an absurd amount of time because Curt keeps stalling and getting distracted with this and that, but he gets it done eventually. By the time he’s finished packing up, it’s quite late and he considers just going straight to bed. He doesn’t entertain the idea long, though, because his stomach protests with a growl and a sharp pain. So, Curt pads back into the kitchen of his small apartment and makes himself a quick sandwich. Molly is resting on the floor but when she sees Curt rummaging around and then go into his living room. As soon as Curt sits on his small couch she plops herself right in his lap, making Curt chuckle. He turns on the TV that sat on a small, oblong table against the wall. He turns on the TV and flicks through the channels mindlessly--though there aren’t many to flick through. He settles on ABC and catches the tail end of a show called Buck Rogers, but he knows that The Billy Rose show is up next, so he sits through the last few minutes.

Curt pets Molly, who purrs loudly, and eats his sandwich trying his best to enjoy his last night before he’s off to Mexico. His TV plays quietly, just barely covering up the muffled talking from the people above him. It’s very soothing, and Curt’s definitely not going to miss the lack of action he’s had these past three months, but he  _ will _ miss the calmness of sitting in the living room at 9 pm, petting a cat, and watching a shitty sitcom. As Curt watches the show, he struggles to keep his eyes open and his nad moving on the cat’s soft fur. Eventually, he dozes off in his small, calming living room.

\---

When Curt woke, his neck hurt and his mouth tasted sour. He was dimly aware that his TV was still on and that he’d fallen asleep on his couch again, and that Molly had left in the middle of the night. That would also explain why the room was so chilly--his kitchen window was open. He thinks that he should probably fix that, but staying on the couch sounded much more appealing. His mind drifts and Curt thinks maybe he can fall back asleep until a thought stuck in the front of his mind and sent his reeling.

He had a fucking mission today. And his flight was at 9 am.

He leaps up off the couch nearly falling back over, but he stumbles through his house ignoring his body’s protest and gets to his bedroom. The clock next to his bed reads 8:17 am, which is a bad sign. It takes a good forty minutes to get to the airport from his house. Curt curses under his breath and throws on the first clean outfit he can find, running to the bathroom as he tugs his shirt over his head making his bed head worse no doubt. As quickly as he can, Curt brushes his teeth and tries to tame his hair, something that takes an absurd amount of gel. Curt struggles for his hair for far too long, but he gets it looking decent, so he grabs the gel he’d been using and a few extra toiletries to toss into his travel bag.

Curt gets his things and quickly sweeps around the houses closing windows and locking them and once he finally gets out his front door, he hopes and prays he hasn’t left anything behind. Surprisingly and thankfully, the elevator is empty when Curt arrives so he presses the button for the first floor and bounces on his feet anxiously. He watches as the numbers count down to one and the pit in his stomach gets bigger the longer it takes. Walking out of the elevator is like a breath of fresh air and Curt is thankful for that as he scurries out of the building and onto the street. Hailing a cab creates its own anxiety but it takes less than ten minutes, which is an absolute miracle. The man in the driver's seat looks over at him tiredly as Curt gets into the back seat and as Curt tells him where to go in a rushed voice, he seems to roll his eyes. 

Curt’s leg bounces up and down throughout the entire drive and he bites at his nails worriedly. Every stoplight seems to have a personal vendetta against him because they all take  _ ages _ to turn green and at every stop sign Curt holds his breath. His brain, unhelpfully, supplies that this is his fault for falling asleep on the couch and not setting an alarm. A small part of his brain tries to argue the point but it makes Curt’s head too loud, so he quietly asks for the radio to be turned on. It’s just some stupid talk show, but the sound helps ease some of Curts anxiety.

The feeling of getting to the airport with  _ one _ minute to spare was both terrifying and reassuring. Curt tears through the airport and is grateful that, in his case file, Curt had a pass that allowed him to blow through a considerable amount of security. He was also grateful that his plane literally couldn't leave without him. It was a government-owned plane and its sole purpose was to get Curt and his associate to their destination in Mexico. Curt reaches the plane at 9:21 and he feels awful for being late but he’s just glad he’s here. He’s welcomed onto the plane by a small flight attendant and Curt just responds with a small smile and a nod and he steps inside.

“We really are making a great first impression now, aren’t we? Twenty minutes late?” now, Curt wasn’t sure what to expect when getting onto that plane, but it wasn’t a posh British accent that belonged to a tall man with overgrown hair.

“Anton?” the man in question looks up, obviously surprised by this turn of events as well. His surprise was quickly covered up by a suave smile.

“I believe it’s Javier now, Love,” He says, “But, yes, that would be me.” Curt splutters, searching for an answer. He didn’t expect to ever see Ant- _ Javier _ again because it’s such an unlikely occurrence. Javier smirks again and walks towards him holding a hand out. “Now, what’s your name again? Gerardo?” Curt shakes the taller man's hand with a nod.

“Yeah, uh, that’s the name. Don’t wear it out,” He tries to joke. Once their hands break apart, Curt dully gestures to the seats around them. “I guess we should sit down so we can take off. We’re already running late.”

“Yes, we are no thanks to you,” the taller man walks over to where he has apparently set up shop with a small notebook and a book sitting on a table and he sits down next to the window and gestures to the seat next to him. “Please, take a seat.” Curt hesitates for only a second, but he quickly scurries over and sits down next to Javier.

“Sorry for being late,” He says almost immediately, “I fell asleep on the couch last night and I had no time to set an alarm and I woke up incredibly late. I swear I’m usually better than this. It’s been a while since I’ve been out on the field so I got used to sleeping in.” Javier glances over at him obviously confused.

“Why haven’t you been doing missions? Did you get injured?” Curt furrows his eyebrows.

“No, it was punishment for that mission in Russia. I’ve been on paperwork duty,” Curt explains, “It’s sucked ass and I’ve gotten so used to being able to sit at home that getting up early and stuff has been hard.”

“You’ve been doing paperwork,” Javier deadpans, “For three months?” Curt looks over at him and nods.

“Uh, Yeah? Weren’t you punished as well?” Javier sputters and shakes his head.

“Not by being out of the field for three months,” He says incredulously, “What was your superior  _ thinking _ ?” Curt shrugs as the pilot walks in and does his usual spiel and tells them to put on their seatbelts. Curt anxiously taps on his knee and tries to take deep breaths as the plane engine ignites. Curt’s never liked planes, they’re death traps but he hasn’t got a choice on if he takes a plane or not. He desperately hopes that Javier doesn’t notice when Curt jumps slightly when they begin to move. Once they’re up in the air and they’re allowed to remove their seatbelts Curt’s considerably calmer but his heart rate still hasn’t settled when Javier turns to him.

“So, we should probably discuss that case now, shouldn’t we, Love?” Curt nods and takes a deep breath, then launches into what he knows about the case. Albeit, it isn’t much information, but he rattles off the intel that he’d gotten from Cynthia. As he talked, he watched Javier quickly jot down important information and nod his head from time to time. As Curt finished up, Javier looked up at him with a tired look. Apparently, he had been given the same information, so between the two of them, they were rather stumped. They talked for a while about the case, but they couldn’t work out much without seeing the layout of the park or following their one lead--a man who supposedly did deals with the rogue arms dealer. So conversation died out quickly and they were left in silence that Curt wouldn’t consider awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. He had the urge to continue the conversation if only to fill the room, but he couldn’t think of much to talk about, so he stayed silent. Curt tried to busy himself by tapping on the arm of his seat, but soon enough Javier gave him an annoyed look.

“Are you really that bored,” Javier said after a few more minutes of Curt squirming in his seat, “You should have brought a book or something.” Curt gives the other man a guilty look.

“Sorry I just, ya know,” Curt trailed off awkwardly with a flourish of his hands. The taller man gives him a bored expression in response. “I just feel the need to continue the conversation or something. I’m not sure.”

“Well I hate to break it to you, Gerardo, but I have other things to do.” He then turns to a small rucksack that he carried on board with him and handed Curt a book. Upon further inspection, Curt sees it’s a book by Agatha Christine titled  _ The Body in the Library _ .

“I didn’t pin you as a Murder Mystery type,” he says as he turns the book over to the back. Javier snorts quietly, obviously amused.

“Well, Love,” He says, “You haven’t known me long enough to pin me as anything”

“Yeah, well, I could pin you to something,” Curt mumbles without really thinking. Javier whips his head around and looks at him and Curt turns his own head, wide-eyed, towards the man sitting next to him.  _ fuck _ .

“What was that,” He asks, and Curt’s heart skips a beat. His face is rapidly heating up.

“I just mean like. Sparring,” Curt sputters out quickly. Javier’s face is unreadable but he nods and slowly turns back to his notes.

“Right, well,” He clears his throat, “That book should hold your attention for the rest of the flight.” Curt just nods, he doesn’t trust himself not to spew absolute nonsense if he tries to talk. He opens up to the first page and tries to concentrate on it and the story, but it moves too slow for him. Curt’s always had a hard time concentrating on books and the likes and this was no exception. Curt eventually gives up and just puts the book back on Javier’s little desk. “Really, did you even try to read it?” Curt makes an indignant sound in the back of his throat.

“For your information, I did,” He says, “I’m just not a book person.” Javier rolls his eyes and goes back to whatever he was doing.

“Alright well have fun being bored out of your mind for,” He checks his watch and sighs, “A whole other hour.” Curt groans and leans his head on the back of his seat. Maybe he can sleep through the rest of this flight. Unlikely, but he can try. So, Curt closes his eyes and attempts to force his body into a slumber. Although, as Curt sits there, the only thing he can focus on is the sound of a pen scratching on paper and the quiet hum of the plane engine and it drives him absolutely  _ insane _ . He makes another frustrated groan and gets up from his seat to pace back and forth. He knows that Javier is looking at him, obviously annoyed, but Curt pointedly ignores that and tries to focus on other things. He thinks about how, when all this is done, he can go back home and see Molly. 

“You know, Love,” Javier says without really looking up, “You should have planned better. You knew you were going on this flight. The least you could have done was pack something to do.” Curt just rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond. Javier huffs out an annoyed sound and puts down his pen. “Listen, Gerardo, you’re  _ really _ riding my tit right now and I’d apprecia-”

“I’m sorry I’m  _ what _ now,” Curt has stopped in his tracks and there’s laughter bubbling in his chest. The taller man glares at him from his seat.

“Oh, piss off, you know exactly what I mean.” Curt can’t seem to hold it in anymore, his laughter bubbles up and over, out of his mouth.

“ _ Oh my god you’re being serious, I- _ ” Curt trails off, laughing even more now. Javier is glaring still but now looks confused.

“What do you mean I’m being serious? Of course I am? You’re really pissing me off now.” Curt looks up at him now with a sudden realization.

“Do you,” He laughs some more, “ _ Do you mean I’m getting on your nerves _ ?”

“Yes, what else would I mean,” the other man splutters. Curt just continues laughing. His stomach hurts and he can’t  _ breathe _ . This is the hardest he’s laughed in a long time. Javier, on the other hand, looks incredibly perplexed. “What’s so funny about this? Do you find joy in pissing people off?” Curt tries to control his laughter with minimal success. Still, he tries to answer Javier’s question.

“I’ve just,” He starts, out of breath, “I’ve  _ never _ heard that phrase before and it was so sudden and it was absurdly funny to me.”

“Clearly,” Javier says dryly. “Well, I guess that’s just a Uk thing.”

“Yeah, I think it is,” Curt says through his last fit of laughter. When he glances at Javier he looks less annoyed, which is a start, and his lips quirked up into a small smile. His eyes hold a sort of playful mirth that Curt’s never seen and Curt feels something in him stir. He pointedly ignores it and looks away. “Anyway,” He starts and realizes he has nowhere to go with the statement.

“Anyway,” Javier responds like a conformation, “Since you  _ obviously _ can’t sit still and refuse to read-”

“I don’t refuse, I just can’t pay attention for that long-”

“Right. Well, either way, what would you rather do? Ask each other random questions as an icebreaker?” He puts air quotes around the word icebreaker. Curt can tell it’s a joke by the way Javier says it, but he considers it. It would be fun, but it was no good for spies. Right?

“I mean, that would be cool.” Javier looks at him, eyebrow quirked. He was intrigued, so Curt continued. “You go first.”

“Fine, what’s your name?” Curt chokes on air.

“ _ What _ ?”

“Your name, dumbass,” Javier looks at him almost challengingly, “I know that Gerardo isn’t your real name.” 

“ _ That’s classified information _ .” Javier scoffs and mutters something under his breath.

“We are working together, Gerardo, I think we’re fine.” Curt makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like something between a laugh and a squeak and Javier very poorly hides his annoyance at it. “Oh come on, it’s just a name.”

“A name can mean a lot,” Curt replies, “If it gets to the wrong person…” He trails off, trusting Javier will understand.

“You’re no fun at all,” Javier huffs, but thankfully drops it. “Fine, if you won't tell me  _ you _ go first.” Curt sighs.

“Alright, do you do anything else for fun besides ridiculing me,” Curt gives Javier a challenging look and the taller man scoffs in return.

“You’re truly a character, aren’t you? For your information, I also happen to read and I dabble in drawing.”

“Drawing, hu? Can I see,” Curt asks, to which Javier quickly shakes his head. “How come?”  
“My art is very personal, I don’t intend on sharing it any time soon. Now, do you have any family?” Curt opens his mouth to object but Javier holds up his hand. “I’m not asking for names or anything, just curious is all.” The shorter man grumbles, but he decides that fighting over it is pointless.

“Just a Mom,” Curt says with a small smile, “And I guess I kinda have a cat if that counts.” Javier raises an eyebrow.

“No father? No siblings?”

“Oh, uh,” Curt suddenly finds his hands much more interesting than before, “I mean, not really no. It’s…” he trails off with a gesture of his hand, “It’s a thing. Anyway,” Curt clears his throat and hopes Javier doesn’t ask any more questions, “What about you? What’s your family like?”

“Very original.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ve got an older sister, just a few years older than me. She’s a pain in the arse, but I love her I guess,” Javier chuckles and Curt pretends that he doesn’t feel a pang in his heart. No need to feel jealous over something he can’t have.

“So, what? No parents,” Curt asks with a shit-eating grin and Javier rolls his eyes.

“Oh, haha, very funny,” He says, “Yeah, I’ve got parents. My turn to ask?” Curt gives a hum of confirmation, so Javier continues. “Alright, you don’t look too young so, do you have a lady back home?” Curt chokes on air, but tries to play it off as a cough. It sounds absurdly fake, so he tries to laugh it off, but Javier is raising his eyebrows already. “What?”

“It’s just,” Curt clears his throat, “No, I don’t. The question just caught me off guard. Uh. Same question?”

“You’re really bad at this, I hope you know that. Can’t even think of your own bloody questions. But, no, I don’t. I still don’t understand why you were so caught off guard by me asking about this?”

“Oh, you know,” Curt hopes his nerves aren’t showing through, “It’s hard to have a girl in this line of work. I thought you’d know that. You have to be so secretive all the time.” Javier hums and very obviously doesn’t believe him. He leaves it be, though, which Curt is eternally grateful for. He really didn’t feel the need to explain himself because that… wouldn’t go well, to say the least. They’re sitting in a silence that is far too awkward for Curt’s liking. He clears his throat causing Javier to look up at him. “So, it’s your turn, right? What’s your question?”

“You said that you had a cat, do you have any other pets?” Curt chuckles softly.

“She’s not actually my cat, she belongs to the apartment above me but they let her roam around a lot so she comes into my house. Her name is Molly,” he explains, “I don’t have any of my own pets. I can’t really take care of them myself because of missions and Mom is off… somewhere.” He almost slips up and says she’s living in his safe house, but thankfully he catches himself. Sure, it may be harmless information, but he worries. He doesn’t want to upset Cynthia too much.

“Huh,” Javier says, to which Curt cocks his head in confusion. “I didn’t expect you to be so… Responsible.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, it’s nothing personal, love,” He smiles lazily, “You just don’t seem like the kind to be responsible.”

“Actually,” Curt raises a finger in an accusing way, “I’m very responsible, thank you very much. Plus, you don’t know shit.” Javier snorts, obviously amused.

“Wow, Gerardo, you’re so very mature, aren’t you?”

“I’m plenty mature,” Curt argues back.

“You’re getting upset over a petty squabble. That doesn’t seem very mature to me.” Curt opens his mouth to argue, but there is a ding and his attention is drawn to the ‘seatbelts on’ sign that is currently lit up.

“Hello passengers, this is your pilot speaking,” A voice crackles all through the plane and Curt can barely understand what’s being said, “Please prepare for our descent and buckle your seatbelts.” Curt closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, right. He was about to spend probably weeks with this Javier guy working on a mission. God, if this didn’t go well…

Well, he already knew that he was on thin ice with Cynthia. He shouldn’t think about what might go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes/Lore!:  
-The biggest reason Cynthia trusts Curt with this case is that she knows Curt is good. She is fully aware Curt is a competent spy, she's just a tough love person. It's hard as fuck being a superior in the 1950s as a woman.  
-If you look up Juana de asbaje park please look at the statues there. They're so weird and I'm worried. I'm pretty sure that's what they're hiding in Area 51  
-In this particular fic, A.S.S is located in a New York type area? Like it isn't exactly New York but that's what I'm picturing! So in the scene where Curt is at his house, I'm basing it off of a typical NY apartment in 1950  
-Thank the fama crew for giving me the idea to give Curt a cat somehow.  
\- THERE IS AN ENTIRE WIKI DEDICATED TO TV NETWORKING SCHEDULES IN 1950??? Very helpful, but oddly specific??? Also, yes! I did look up the day and picked an appropriate time!  
\- Curt is, understandably, worried about being late but a big reason his panic is so big is because of Cynthia.  
-"The perfect place for gay tension is an airplane" - The Discord.  
-Owen, an obvious gay: You got a girlfriend? Curt, whos also a gay: haha no. You? Owen: haha No.   
-


End file.
